


A Work of Art

by round_robin



Series: Kinks in Your Back [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Foot Fetish, Kink, M/M, PWP, foot sex, not series two compatible, toe sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:12:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock’s feet were just like the man himself: long, beautiful, graceful, and a million other things John that could never quite put into words. His toes were practically prehensile with the way they curled into the arm of the couch (and the rug, and around pretty much anything within their reach).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Work of Art

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed or Brit-picked, so all mistakes are mine. And since I'm tired, I probably missed some typos, so if you find one, just pop it in a comment and I'll fix it. :)

“I still don’t know—” a moan cut off Sherlock’s words as John licked a thick stripe up the length of his cock on his way down. “Don’t know,” he stammered his words together. “How you convinced me that this was sexy.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s sexy to you,” John said, now at his final destination with one of Sherlock’s lovely feet held in his hand. “I enjoy your feet, you enjoy me enjoying you, everyone has an orgasm. Seems like a good plan to me.”

“Still,” his voice was a bit steadier now that John was away from his prick (which would like some attention, but Sherlock could wait). “I can’t say I understand why. The body is just transport. Why should I care if you like any part of me other than my brain?”

“Because,” John said. He trailed his fingers firmly over the sole of Sherlock’s foot, not intending to tickle, just to touch. “Whether you put value in your body or not, I do. It’s part of you. And besides,” he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of the foot he was holding. “You secretly love that I find you physically attractive. Everyone else only wants you for your brain,” the idiots down at the Yard for one, Mycroft for another. “But I love the whole package. Curls down to toes.” As if to prove it, John pressed another kiss to Sherlock’s foot.

“Yes,” Sherlock smiled down at John. John smiled back. “You do.” Extending his leg a bit, Sherlock pressed his toes against John’s chin. That was all the other man needed.

The bedroom fell silent as John took the first of those long, lovely toes between his lips.

John had always liked feet. Strong, yet soft. Capable of focusing the great strength of the legs into one point, but still susceptible to tickling and other such good-natured torture. But John didn’t like to do that, not with anyone and especially not with Sherlock.

Sherlock’s feet were just like the man himself: long, beautiful, graceful, and a million other things John that could never quite put into words. His toes were practically prehensile with the way they curled into the arm of the couch (and the rug, and around pretty much anything within their reach). Once, John had even seen Sherlock writing with his toes. He almost came, right then and there, gripping tight to the kitchen door, using all of his strength and self control to not jump Sherlock on the couch. But you better believe when that case was done, they didn’t even make it out of the lift down at Scotland Yard.

Usually, he liked a bit more courtship before pulling one of Sherlock’s long toes between his lips. Running his finger along the high arches, maybe tracing the veins with his tongue. Sometimes, he even liked to give Sherlock’s feet a bit of a massage before he got down to business. Sherlock indulged his pleasure, why not give something back?

But tonight, it seemed like Sherlock wanted it too. His toes didn’t usually beg entrance into John’s mouth, and John was not about to waste this rare moment. He’d rub Sherlock’s feet later when they were coming down. That might start the whole process all over again, but John couldn’t make himself care about it.

One hand on Sherlock’s firm calf, the other on his ankle, John supported Sherlock’s leg and held the toe in his mouth. He let his tongue swirl around the round little tip and flick over the top of the nail. Sherlock was an immaculately clean man whenever there wasn’t a case on, so John never had to worry about encountering anything… unpleasant. Nothing here but soft skin, hard nail and smooth muscles dancing across his tongue. John fucking loved it.

“You know,” Sherlock said when John popped one toe out of his mouth and moved to the next. “They say that foot fetishism is due to a cross wiring in the brain. On the mental map of how functions and sensation are laid out, the genitals are right next to the feet.”

“Mmm, fascinating,” John hummed around the toe in his mouth. Sherlock liked to barrage him with various feet facts whenever he was having his fun. It gave him something to do while John was enjoying himself, so John saw no need to ask him to stop. It wasn’t like he didn’t already know these things (it was his fetish after all). Last week’s facts were about Chinese foot binding.

But now that he was down to business, Sherlock was little more than white noise. Pleasing white noise, but white noise none the less. The only things that did break through John’s happy haze were the rare moans and groans when he did something particularly pleasurable for them both.

John got so lost in the feeling of Sherlock’s toes pressing against his tongue that he didn’t even hear the other man calling his name. He only looked up when the other beautiful foot pressed against his cheek. Snapping his eyes back to Sherlock, the detective suddenly had all of John’s attention. “Come up here,” he nodded towards the other side of the bed. “I want to try something.” John wasn’t quite done with Sherlock’s feet, but he was always indulgent with John, so for a moment, John could be indulgent with him.

He slowly slid the toe from his mouth, making it last, then he placed a small kiss on the top of Sherlock’s foot before replacing it on the bed and crawling up to lay down. As soon as they were face to face again, Sherlock leaned over and pressed a kiss to John’s lips. That was another thing that made Sherlock different: not only did he indulge John this way, but he would always kiss him after. Most of John’s past lovers—of the ones who were willing to let him suck on their toes—never wanted to kiss him afterwards. Sherlock dismissed this particular fear of John’s with a roll of his eyes. “I know where my feet have been, I know where your mouth has been. What would it say about me if I let you lick them and wouldn’t do it myself?” This from a man who frequently ate with chemical-stained fingers. Neither of them had died yet, so John figured there was no harm in anything they put in their mouths. And he really did appreciate that Sherlock was this accepting.

Sherlock pulled back, breaking the kiss. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. Usually, a dangerous state around Sherlock Holmes, but John would willingly do it. They’d earned each other’s trust a million times over.

As soon as John let his eyes fall closed, the warm length of Sherlock disappeared. “Hey,” John said, turning his head blindly, trying to find the detective. “Where’d you go?”

“Just wait,” there was a click like the cap of a bottle of lube, and then a squidgy sounding squirt. Yes, definitely lube.

“Sherlock,” John started. “What’s going on?” Then John felt it.

Had he not been on intimate terms with those toes, he might not have recognized the sensation. But oh, he did. Because right now, John was very aware of the placement of his cock. Gripped between Sherlock’s toes, Sherlock was pulling him off. With his feet.

“Sherlock!” John gasped out. His hips bucked up of their own accord, because if John could control his central nervous system right now, that would be kind of spectacular. But he really couldn’t. All he could focus on was the smooth slide of all ten of Sherlock’s toes over his erection. A little bit more awkward than fingers, but just as pleasurable. More so, because of what they meant to John. Oh, he could just imagine it. Those ten perfect toes, touching this most intimate of places, gripping softly against his skin.

No, he didn’t want to look. Couldn’t open his eyes, because then it would be over. One look, and John would go off like a fucking rocket. He found Sherlock’s feet beyond attractive when they were just sitting there doing nothing; how would John feel if he actually saw them pulling him off?

For the next few minutes, John held onto the bed for dear life, trying not to come. It was too good, more than he ever expected Sherlock to do, and he didn’t want it to end. “John,” Sherlock whispered. Surprisingly enough, John could still hear the soft voice over the ruckus he was making. He didn’t think he’d ever moaned this loud before. “Open your eyes.”

He’d been avoiding it, but how could he ignore a command from Sherlock? Especially when Sherlock was doing—“Christ!”—this?

“John,” he said again. “Open your eyes.”

Forcing his eyes open was an effort, but John did. Sherlock was sitting at the end of the bed, leaning back on his hands, eyes locked with John’s. And his legs. Long, beautiful legs were stretched in front of him, covering John’s own legs so that his feet could reach the proper area. John caught sight of Sherlock’s feet and groaned again. Those gorgeous toes were wrapped around him on both sides, glistening and slick with lube as they worked their way up and down John’s shaft.

John was right: one look and he was done. “Sherlock, fuck!” He managed to yell before his brain forgot how to make words. There was nothing left except the white-hot explosion, and the press of ten perfect toes against his spasming cock. His eyes fell shut again as shudders wracked his body.

Sherlock seemed to know when it was too much and gently pulled away, letting his feet rest on John’s hips while he waited for the other man to come back to earth. When John finally opened his eyes, the sight that greeted him almost had him coming again. Sherlock’s feet were covered—absolutely _coated_ —with John’s come. The thick, off-white fluid dripped slowly over the top of Sherlock’s foot, even dripping down his glorious arches.

“Your feet,” John sighed, still catching his breath. “Are a work of art.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock smirked back.

He let John lay there and come back to himself, reaching over and grabbing the damp flannel they kept on the bedside table. Once his feet were clean again, Sherlock turned around and lay down next to John, who still looked comatose. “You know,” he said, fingers trailing over John’s chest. “It’s not such a large inconvenience for me to indulge you like this.”

“Huh?” John mumbled. After that, he was barely coherent. Give him a few minutes.

“Finding sexual pleasure in feet,” Sherlock continued using words that were too long for John to understand right now. Like _inconvenience_. And _in_. “In the pantheon of sexual proclivities, feet are actually fairly common.”

“Yes,” John nodded half-heartedly. “Sure.”

“John?” Sherlock whispered. He knew that the older man was well on his way to sleep, but he wanted to say this. He moved over to rest his head on John’s chest. John brought an arm up to pull him closer; even in sleep, he would always want Sherlock closer. “John, no matter what,” Sherlock said. “I will always accept you.” He placed a small kiss just above John’s nipple. “Because you always accept me.”

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of a series that can be read in any order, doesn't necessarily exist in the same 'verse, and there's only one thing in common: kink. :)


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